


Abhorsen-in-Waiting: Interlude

by KageKitsune13



Series: The Abhorsen-in-Waiting [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), POV Severus Snape, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-18 14:19:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11876328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKitsune13/pseuds/KageKitsune13
Summary: When Severus Snape returns to Spinner's End in the summer of 1982 he encounters the last two people he ever hoped to see after his greatest failure.





	1. Return to Spinner's End

In a lonely clearing near the river, amongst a copse of alder, willow and birch, a man appeared with only a quiet displacement of air to mark his arrival. He was tall and thin in a way that spoke of ill-treatment or a recent and voracious illness not yet recovered from if the way his dark clothes hung about his emaciated figure were anything to go by. His thin, sallow face was framed by lank locks of shoulder length black hair and dominated by an aquiline nose and deep-set black eyes which were ringed in such prominent dark circles they appeared bruised.

The ever-oppressive heat of a Cokeworth summer surrounded him in its hot, muggy, misery and had him sweating through his shirt within moments. Not that his body’s attempt to cool itself would do any good. The high temperature was compounded by the even higher level of humidity that prevented the evaporation of perspiration and left one feeling as though they were attempting to breathe through a soggy sponge.

The only improvement, if it could be considered such, from the summers of his childhood, was that with the closing of the mill and the apparent implementation of new regulations up river was that the water before him no longer alternated between indigo-blue and rust-red depending on who was currently dumping their refuse into the waterway – the mill or the slaughter houses in Aspen Tallow.

The man cast his dark gaze about the clearing. His eyes staring into the middle distance at visions of something only he could see. After a moment, he set aside the memories of a dark-haired boy and an emerald eyed girl who had used the clearing as a hideaway a decade before like the precious thing that it was and set off. He wound his way through the trees until he emerged onto a grassy stretch of the river’s bank. It was just as rubbish strewn as it had always been with discarded fish-and-chips wrappings, empty brown bottles and the ends of cigarettes that had been smoked down to the filter. 

He trudged to the top of the bank and ducked under a line of railing that separated the river from a narrow, cobbled street. Blank faced he stared across the road at the row of moldering houses, their windows dull and dirty from the grimy fog that rose from the dirty river at night. 

Once he was assured he wasn’t about to meet his end by being flattened by a Muggle lorry, he crossed the road, slipped into an alleyway between a pair of houses and was instantly glad he’d foregone wearing his typical attire of long, black robes, which would have swept the ground.

The alley between the houses was full of overflowing bins that were scarred with rusted fissures that seeped unnamable fluids as their contents putrefied in the heat and mixed on the cobblestones with the even more horrid stench of piss from both man and beast. It was with shallow breaths that the man passed through the alleyway and emerged out onto a second, almost identical street.

Over it all stood the enormous chimney of the disused mill. Looming even in the summer sun as it cast its shadow over those it intended to keep even after it had shuddered with its final breaths. This was Spinner’s End, where thousands had come to work over the years and eke out a living only to be replaced by newer and better machinery until at last the work was taken away and sent to those would do it for even less.

The man, Severus Snape, was not entirely sure what had driven him to return to a place he’d sworn never to set foot in again once he had left Hogwarts. The dilapidated house he had once shared with his parents stood empty and abandoned before him. Its brick façade covered in a thick layer of grime, while its shutters hung half-off their hinges like broken teeth. 

His father, Tobias, had run off years ago. An angry man desperate to drown himself in drink and lose women in the town’s shadier array of pubs and taverns. If he hadn’t already met his end at the wrong end of a broken bottle in a bar fight, then Severus was half-tempted to track the old man down himself and give him the end he deserved for taking off when his wife had actually needed him. 

Severus’s mother, Eileen, hadn’t been perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but she had tried her best to do right by her only child. She’d shielded him from the worst of his father’s wrath when she could and he’d learned his craft at her knee. As far as he was concerned the fact that he’d become the youngest Potions Master in Europe was because he’d been able to build on the firm foundation of her teachings… He was utterly loath to say that he had learned anything from the likes of _Slughorn_ ….

Not that their combined knowledge had been able to help them when the worst had happened and Eileen contracted Thaumalysis the summer before what would have been his seventh year at school…. The disease had ravaged her magical core until it had been completely depleted and her body had simply shut down. _Perhaps_ , he thought, stepping through the cracked and peeling front door, _it’s a fitting penance that I should begin to make up for my most recent failure by dwelling in the place of my last…._

He swung the door shut behind him and heard it seal itself with a faint _click_. The sitting room before him appeared gloomy and dark with only sparse patches of sunlight managing to filter in through the moth-eaten curtains and dirty window that faced the street. 

Stepping into the center of the room Severus drew his wand – a slender length of ebony – and gave it a sharp flick in the direction of at the lamp hanging from the ceiling with a muttered, “ _Flickorum_.” 

Tiny flames flickered to life, lighting the stubby candles in the lamp and illuminating the tiny sitting room Severus’s mother hand made her own in her last year of life. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in black or brown leather with their gold and silver titles pealing along creased spines. It was an eclectic collection Eileen had inherited from her parents and all that remained of the once vast Prince family library.

There was also a moth-eaten sofa and armchair with a rickety coffee table between them encapsulated in the circle of candlelight. Even as tired as he was from apparating all the way from Hogsmeade to the clearing by the river, he was reluctant to sit on either piece of furniture. Both looked to be infested with some manner of vermin. He was tempted to use the table as a seat instead but feared that the flimsy thing would be unable to hold the weight of one of his smallest first years never mind his own. 

The floor about his feet was coated with a thick layer of dust. It appeared undisturbed save for his own footprints and the scampering prints of some kind of small rodent: a rat or mouse if the droppings were anything to go by.

If the bedrooms upstairs were in the same sort of state as the sitting room, then there would be enough work to keep him busy for a few days even with the use of magic to help things along.

“ _Pulitas_ ,” he murmured, waving his wand in a grand sweeping motion and the floor began to clean itself as though being swept by an invisible broom. Once the dust had swept itself into a pile he pointed his wand at it the mound and vanished it with a quiet, “ _evanesco_.”

Dark eyes evaluated the state of the room once again. The sofa and armchair would need to be replaced, but he could probably manage to transfigure the table into something serviceable.

Satisfied with the state of the sitting room for the moment, he headed on through to the house’s small kitchen.

He was met by the sight of the same small table and quarte of chairs that he had eaten meals at with his mother and father; its scrubbed wooden surface was nicked and scarred with a dark circular burn at the center from the time a pan had been taken straight off the hob and placed upon it without so much as a trivet to insulate it.

As a whole, the room was as dirty as the previous. The only upside was that both the cooker and the sink appeared to still be in working order – if in desperate need of a good scouring. He checked the icebox next and found it to be mercifully bare. The runic array his mother had etched into the bottom of it in place of a Cooling Charm was still sound although in need of recharging. That little array was probably the only bit of magic his mother had ever performed that Tobias Snape had actually appreciated and that was because it allowed him to squander more of his meager paycheck on himself.

Severus closed the door ignoring the empty gnawing sensation in his stomach. He would recharge the runes after he visited the green grocer and butcher’s shop in town.

Ignoring the little voice at the back of his head that sounded remarkably like the Hogwarts Matron, Madam Pomfrey, which was warning him that casting any more spells would be flirting with magical exhaustion. Instead, he made a broad sweeping gesture with his wand as he cast another series of Sweeping Charms and then jabbed his wand in the direction of the cooker.

“ _Scourgify!_ ”

The Scouring Charm ate at the layers of dust and grime atop the hob like a bubbly pink piranha stripping flesh from a cow.

Feeling exhausted and suddenly light headed, Severus sank into one of the ladderback chairs encircling the kitchen table. His last conscious thought as his vision faded to black was that at least the ground floor of the house was now habitable even if it wasn’t homey….


	2. An Unexpected Meeting

Severus Snape awoke slowly from his exhaustion induced slumber to find himself slumped across the kitchen table of his childhood home with his wand still in hand. His head felt muzzily as though someone had scooped out his brain and replaced it with cotton-wool. Blearily, he fished his watch from his trouser pocket and glanced at it and then at the level of light showing through the now clean window. He had been out cold for at least twelve hours and his second day in Cokeworth had already dawned.

Judging by the faint pinpricks he could feel in his limbs along his meridians and the hollowed-out sensation that had joined the now rather insistent snarling of his stomach to be fed, he had managed to do more than flirt with magical exhaustion. He had gone past that and nearly sent himself into Hypothaumic shock. 

 _You can’t even take care of yourself_ , he snarled at himself. _It’s little wonder everyone you care about dies, too._

And Albus Dumbledore actually expected him to be able to do anything to protect Lily’s boy if the Dark Lord returned…? _When_ the Dark Lord returned if Dumbledore was right and his former master truly had taken steps to ensure he would survive even the Death Curse of a witch as powerful as Lily Evans.

Severus knew that Dumbledore believed that it had been Lily’s love for her son that had saved the boy from the Dark Lord’s Killing Curse that night. He supposed that a fiercely protective nature coupled with a mind full of obscure and forgotten knowledge about Life and Death and the Will to use that knowledge could count as love in this instance. 

It was only because of Lily being who she was – _what_ she was that Severus knew about the desperate power of the Death Curse. After all, it was a piece of magic that been lost to time as the Wizarding World had become more ‘civilized’ and witch-hunts had become a thing of the past. There was little need of modern magical folk to know that if they knew – knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were going to die, and accepted that fact, that they could channel all of their magic – even their very life force itself – into one final devastating spell.

It might not have always been able to send the one who had hunted them into the afterlife as well, but it had ensured that those under those witches’ and wizards’ protection had been able to escape.

At the moment, however, Severus doubted he had the magical muscle to give someone a bloody nose much less blast them into a greasy smear on the pavement. 

He was pulled from his musings by the petulant growl of his stomach as it began to munch upon his spine. A reminder that using magic burned calories as readily as any physical exertion and that he’d burned through any reserves he had quite a while ago. 

If conjured food had any nutritional value, Severus might have entertained the idea of not leaving the house on Spinner’s End until it was time for him to return to Hogwarts. However, it didn’t (not to mention the further strain it would put on his slowly recovering core) and so he was left with one option and that was to venture into the village for essentials.

He knew better than to risk a set back by apparating on an empty stomach to the village high street. After all, the use of a few minor Cleaning Spells the day before had been enough to leave him slumped insensible across the kitchen table. He would be lucky if he didn’t manage to splinch himself and then, somehow, find himself subject to the tender, loving, care of the Healers at St. Mungo’s or _worse_ – Madam Pomfrey….

And so, he walked; his sleep rumpled muggle clothes and messy black hair giving him an air of casual neglect. It was late enough in the day that the sun had burned the nightly fog away, but still early enough that that it was blessedly cool compared to the noonday heat of when he’d arrived. Not that the reprieve would last. It never did in Cokeworth.

The village itself was up hill from the river and the labyrinth like twists and turns that made up the mill’s terraced houses on Spinner’s End and Riverdale Circle. And so, it was up along a narrow lane bordered by hawthorn and cow parsley that Severus traveled.

It was too late in the year to pick freshly sprouted hawthorn leaves and buds to chew on as he walked. Though he could easily imagine the sweet taste of the green buds and leaves. A treat of bread and cheese, his mother had called it and it was something that he’d been able to share with Lily Evans when they would meet up in the village playpark.

Now it was just a sepia toned memory of a time before everything had gone wrong….

~¤~¤~¤~

Cokeworth was ovular in shape. Rather like the cross section of a hard-boiled egg with the village green taking the place of the yoke and a street encircling the whole like a shell. To the north of the green the street was creatively called North Main while the southern route was called South Main. 

It was along North Main that Severus was now traveling. Past a few shops, the post office, a phone box and a few private homes to where North Main began curling back around to become South Main and where the Briar-Rose was located.

The Briar-Rose was one of the better taverns in the village. It was an older wattle and daub dwelling with a restaurant on the ground floor and rooms to rent on the upper levels. The heavy, darkly lacquered door was inlayed with a stained-glass window depicting a wooden spinning wheel on a field of blue. 

The interior of the Briar-Rose was cozy, but well-lit with well-worn wooden floors and exposed beams the same dark color as the front door. He arrival was early enough for breakfast, but late enough that the crowd of earlier risers had mostly already come and gone. 

As with all small-town establishments, all conversation tapered off in a brief lull at the sight of an unfamiliar face when Severus entered. Not that this is saying much as the Briar-Rose was only sparsely populated at the moment with a wizened old couple seated in the back corner; a pair of teens, most likely only a few years Severus’s junior seated at the counter with their feet propped up on the bar rail; and a young woman probably the same age playing a fruit machine over in another corner.

As the door swung shut behind Severus the bell above it gave a clamorous ring; summoning the proprietress, Josephine Wesson. She was a buxom woman with warm eyes the color of milk chocolate, who seemed to be quite at home behind the counter if her cheery smile was anything to go by.

“Well if it isn’t little Sev Snape all grown up,” she said as soon as she spotted him. “It’s been an age since I’ve seen you.” Her smile slipped. “Not since your mum’s funeral … Horrible way that she went … just horrible – fading like that….” 

They both bowed their heads in a brief moment of silence for the late Eileen. 

The moment was broken as Mrs. Wesson began ushering Severus over to a nearby table that set in full view of the counter. It was obvious from her manner, which rather reminded Severus of a fancy hen with a single chick, that she intended to try and fuss over him. If he was being honest, he found the experience to be rather novel. As a rule, people didn’t go out of their way like this for him of all people…. 

But Mrs. Wesson and his mum had been friends of a sort, or at least the closest thing that Tobias Snape had allowed his wife to have.

“So, what have you been up to,” she queried, eyeing him curiously. “That is,” she hastened to add, “if you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

Severus didn’t allow her apparent nosiness to bother him as Mrs. Wesson had always been this way. She had found her life’s calling at the Briar-Rose because she genuinely _liked_ people and enjoyed hearing their stories. 

 _At least she isn’t a gossip_ , he thought, which was why he actually answered her honestly and admitted that he’d taken a post teaching at his old school. 

“But you’re so _young_ ,” she said wonderingly. “And weren’t you schoolmates with some of the lower years? That must be odd for the both of you…. Although,” she murmured speculatively, “I suppose _that_ will get easier as time goes along….”

“I can only hope,” he remarked drolly, as it would be another few years before the students who had just begun at Hogwarts in his final year would also graduate.

“Though, I have to wonder if you’re the only change in staff,” said Mrs. Wesson, eyeing him critically. “If I remember rightly you didn’t come home half as skinny when you were a student there. You’re plumb skin and bones….”

Severus carefully avoided meeting her eyes as a bit of color unwittingly entered his sallow cheeks.

“No, no change in the kitchen staff that I know of,” he hedged. “I’ve just… I’ve not had much of an appetite lately….”

Stress had made his eating habits sporadic at best after he’d made his deal with Dumbledore for the protection of Lily and her family, but ever since her death food had lost its appeal altogether.

Mrs. Wesson hummed and, while Severus could have been mistaken, he thought she had an almost knowing look in her eyes. His concerns were confirmed with what she said next.

“You and the younger Evans girl always was close when the two of you was young … thick as thieves and always running that sister of Lily’s ragged trying to keep an eye on you…. ‘Til you weren’t … close that is….” The near palpable pity in her gaze was almost enough to stoke Severus’s carefully blanketed temper, but he restrained himself. “It’s always hard, Sev. To lose someone like that after a falling out … especially if you don’t have a chance to try and mend fences before they’re gone….”

He couldn’t restrain his flinch when she patted him gently on the shoulder and promised to have him a good proper meal out in no time.

The plate she brought out a short while later was laden with food: still sizzling streaky bacon, fried eggs, grilled tomatoes, oatcakes, and baked beans. As well as, a large cup of tea she advised him to add plenty of milk and sugar too.

“You need the calories and she’d want you to take care of yourself, Sev,” said Mrs. Wesson gently, unknowingly echoing the very words Dumbledore told him before he’d left from Hogsmeade the day before. Although he has a feeling that Mrs. Wesson means it more for his sake than because she’s worried about the loss of a useful tool.

The thought is enough to kill what little appetite the smell of hot food had stirred up within him, but he forced himself to eat the meal anyway. Even though every bite tasted like ash upon his tongue.

~¤~¤~¤~

When Severus left the Briar-Rose the plate he left behind was still half-full. Nevertheless, what he’d eaten was more than he had m been able to manage in a single sitting in quite a while. Best of all his meridians no longer felt as though they were bristling with needles. 

From the Briar-Rose he headed down along South Main Street to the grocers to pick up the essentials: bread, milk, butter, eggs, oats, oil, salt and pepper, and tea, as well as tins of tomatoes and beans. He may be a potions master, but he’s never really had to see if the skills translated over to cooking. Though he’s fairly certain he can manage to produce a decent fry-up if nothing else.

Before heading to the checkout counter, he also chose a few items from the store’s selection of seasonal fruit. It wouldn’t do to contract scurvy and give Pomfrey or Mrs. Wesson yet another reason to fret over his eating habits – or lack thereof. All the while he stays well clear of the wine and spirits isle knowing full well that it would be all too tempting to crawl into a bottle and not emerge until the start of term. He refuses to become his father. Someone who attempts to fix all of his problems with booze.

His next stop is the butcher’s shop for a small string of sausages. Now that his magic levels seem to be well enough recovered he allows himself to surreptitiously cast a Cooling Charm on his perishables so that they will remain fresh until he can get everything back to the enchanted icebox at the house.

For his return trip to Spinner’s End he decides to take a shortcut by cutting across the village green. It’s because of this decision that he encounters the last two people he could have ever wanted to see after the events of the past Hallowe’en. One he thought that he would have nearly a decade to prepare himself to see. The other he had hoped to avoid if at all possible while in the village.

It happened as he was nearing the playpark at the center of the green. He had just been passed by a group of boys peddling along on their bicycles and had the thought that they were bound to be off to commit some mischief if he knew the type – and he was fairly certain that he did. He’d attended school with James Potter and his so-called Marauders, after all. When all of a sudden, he had heard someone cry out:

“Harry, _don’t!_ ”

Severus hadn’t been able to help glancing over in the direction of the shout and had froze at the sight that met his eyes. A small boy, just a toddler really, had launched himself from the seat of his swing at it reached the apex of its arch and sent himself soaring through the air. Normally this would have only inspired an internal wince at the thought of the bone jarring thud the boy was about to experience.

Instead, he watched as the dark-haired boy flew through the air – so very much like a red-haired girl over a decade before – then he touched down on the ground as light as a feather. He was still gapping at the sight before him when a familiar looking man hurried over to check the boy over.

“Harry James Potter, what have I said about doing that,” the man demanded, his concern evident in his rumbling voice.

The boy, Lily’s boy Severus’s mind prodded him instantly, responded morosely, “Not to in _public.”_ The final word muttered with deliberate care. It’s obviously something that’s been repeated time and time again without the lesson sinking in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The concept of the "Death Curse" does not belong to me, but is borrowed from Jim Butcher's Dresden Files.


	3. Enemies Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I'm suppose to be doing Latin translations.... Instead, ya'll get a new chapter hot off the presses.

Severus doesn’t know what it is that drew Mr. Evans’s attention to him. Perhaps the other man had caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye or maybe it was some sort of sixth-sense that those like the Abhorsen developed after the years they spent dealing with the abominations that they did. And despite what most would say about those who came from Slytherin house, including Severus himself, he was not a coward, and yet the sight of those emerald green eyes was enough to freeze the marrow in his bones.

He knew immediately that Mr. Evans recognized him. Severus could see it in the way the other man’s eyes narrowed and his large frame went as still as an apex predator before it struck. Seeing distrust in those eyes – eyes the exact same shape and shade as Lily’s – hurt even though he knew that he had earned it.

Severus didn’t dare meet Mr. Evans’s eyes for more than a moment, however. He had no wish to see into the mind of Abhorsen. It was place of creeping horrors and arcane knowledge that was best left lost to the ages.

He had peered into Lily’s mind only once and that had been by accident when they were both thirteen. She had been four years into her training as the Abhorsen-in-Waiting already and his talents as a Legilimens had been growing by leaps and bounds; often outstripping his control and leaving him responding to others thoughts as though they had been spoken aloud. 

It was during the summer before the start of their third year at Hogwarts. Apparently by her family’s traditions, Lily was old enough for her first hunt. And so, she had joined her father in stalking and dispatching a Rawhead that had formed from the slaughterhouse scraps a town over in Aspen Tallow.

What he had seen in her mind had been the stuff of nightmares. 

The Rawhead had been a great hulking monster; easily twice as tall as a man. Its body made from the rotting remains of cows, pigs, and the neighborhood pets it had begun to consume to sustain itself. It had been skinless with its malformed ropes of muscle clearly visible and glistening a bloody red like an open wound as it dripped with ichor. All the while, its eyes had gleam like firebrands from the sockets of the steer’s skull it had made its own and armed with countless needlelike bone shard teeth. 

He had had recurrent nightmares about it for weeks afterwards. No doubt exasperated by the fact that once Tuney knew the whole matter had bothered him she began endlessly chanting the old schoolyard rhyme about Tommy Rawhead and Bloody Bones:

 

“ _Tommy Rawhead and Bloody Bones_

_Steals naughty children from their homes,_

_Takes them to his dirty den,_

_And they are never seen again._ ”

 

Or at least he had until his mum had redoubled her efforts in hammering Occlumency into his head until he was able to Occlude on reflex…. It had helped to. At least until his nightmares of cadaverous, patchwork monsters were replaced were replaced by those of an enormous wolf with mad eyes and slavering fangs a few years later…. Until they were subverted once again by what he had seen and done during the war….

Severus’s mind was drawn from the past as Mr. Evans eased from his predator still stance. The other man had bent down to scoop up his grandson and was now balancing the small boy on his hip. The motion was enough for Severus to notice the disillusioned bandoleer of necromancy bells buckled across Mr. Evans’s chest and the sword at his hip.

Even now, with the Ministry of Magic’s Death Eater tribunal disbanded Aster Evans was still dressed for war. Though Severus supposed that the war was never truly over for a man who battled the Dead. 

“Severus Snape, unless you’re a revenant sent to kill me you needn’t look so worried,” said Mr. Evans genially, breaking the silence. Nevertheless, Severus didn’t relax his guard; in fact, if anything he became even more tense at the other man’s next words. “Unless, of course you believe that there is another reason you should have drawn my wrath…?”

 _Does he know_ , Severus’s mind raced. _Does he know that I was the one who told the Dark Lord the prophecy that led that monster to seek the death of his daughter’s family?_

Mr. Evans’s next words left him feeling as though his thoughts had been plucked from his mind. 

“Please Severus,” he said heavily, “whatever ills you think lay between us … If they truly weigh upon you so much … let’s speak about them now and I will consider that a step towards any recompense you feel you owe –”

Severus couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t believe that in any universe that Mr. Evans would ever consider forgiving him for what he had done.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I did!” he said, the words bursting from him like water from a broken dam. A tormented sob tore itself from his throat and his shopping fell from his hands as his arms came up to wrap around his middle as though trying to conceal a grievous wound to his center. He could feel the contents of his stomach clawing at the back of his throat as his innards writhed with guilt. “It’s my fault that Lily’s dead! How can I ever make that right!”

Slytherin self-preservation had Severus giving a violent flinch as Aster drew his wand from a forearm holster. However, instead of cursing him as he deserved the other man waved his wand at the surrounding area and cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm, which surrounded them with a faint shimmering mirage like heat haze. He followed this up with a subtle Muggle Repelling Charm, as well.

“Severus Tobias Snape, unless you were their Secret Keeper instead of that bastard Black or the Dark Lord himself then you are _not_ the one responsible for my daughter’s death,” Mr. Evans growled, eyes flashing. 

“But I’m the one who told _him_ about the – the prophecy,” he said, admitting his shame.

“And Voldemort is the one who decided act on the word of a Seer that left the Clayr in shame,” Mr. Evans persisted. “And Black is the one who broke a soul deep oath to guard their home from detection.”

Severus could help flinching at the sound of his former master’s name. His left-hand spasming as a sharp pain surged through the brand on his left forearm as the faded dark mark reacted to the Taboo of voicing the Dark Lord’s name. 

“Don’t say his name,” Severus pleaded. “ _Please_.”

Mr. Evans eyed him probingly, but nodded his acquiescence. 

“Very well, but will you please come and sit with us,” he asked, motioning for them to go to one of the benches near the swing set. Indicating the one in the shadow of a large English Oak in particular. “I would like to speak with you, but I can understand if you’re worried about your shopping. I can have Pell-Mell can take it home for you, alright....”

Severus nodded once and a house-elf appeared before them with a crack like a car backfiring.

The elf, Pell-Mell, was obviously as well cared for as any of the Hogwarts elves with a flour sack dress, a tea towel shawl and a fine linin napkin worn for modesty on her bald head like a wimble with slits cut into the sides to allow her large bat-like ears to poke through. She smiled brightly up at Severus, her sharp little teeth bright against her toffee colored skin. Then, with a snap of her long boney fingers, both she and the shopping bags vanished with another crack.

It was with his feet feeling as though they had become leaden weights at the ends of his legs that Severus then followed Mr. Evans over to the bench.

“It really is good to see you, Sev.” Mr. Evans informed him as he settled Lily’s son on his lap. The boy was staring up at Severus with blatant curiosity. “It’s been so long.”

“Five years,” Severus murmured woodenly, carefully avoiding the man’s painfully familiar eyes.

“I heard about your apprenticeship under Anscom Pritchard,” said Mr. Evans and Severus wondered where the other man was going with this line of thought. Then the he added, “I also heard about how he was convicted for supplying poisons and several other unsavory potions to Vol- er – the Dark Lord….”

Severus couldn’t restrain his wince. Pritchard’s alliance with the Dark Lord had all but ensured that he, his apprentice, had had to follow in his footsteps after the man’s conviction.

 _And just when my mother’s illness had ensured my removal from the questionable influences of Avery and Mulciber, too_ , he though wearily.

“Furthermore,” Mr. Evans went on. “The whispers in certain parts of the Ministry are that Albus Dumbledore testified on your behalf during the tribunals,” Mr. Evans probed. “He claimed that you were his spy among the Dark Lord’s ranks...?”

“Yes,” Severus admitted woodenly. “After the Dark Lord informed us – er – his followers that he believed the prophecy to mean the Potters, I – I went to Dumbledore to warn him and ask him to – to keep them safe…. He – Dumbledore, that is – asked me what I would do in return … that was his price….”

Immediately, Severus felt as though his lungs had frozen in his chest. A cold wave of arcane energy was rolling off of the necromancer beside him as the air was filled with the sharp tang of ozone – the scent of dark magic.

“ _So_ ,” Mr. Evans snarled. “The _leader_ of the Order of the Phoenix would barter the lives of innocents in the name of his ‘greater good’?” The green eyes that bore into Severus’s own gleamed with the same poisonous light of a Killing Curse. “Has he bound Fawkes to his side or has the damned bird gone senile putting off his burning day,” he demanded, terrifying to behold in his anger.

“W-What?” asked Severus bewildered. “Fawkes is the headmaster’s familiar, isn’t he?”

Raucous laughter filled the air as a large raven dropped from its perch on a bough above them and alighted onto the shoulder of Severus’s wand arm. Its scaly grey toes gripping him with an unnatural strength.

“Fawkes is a phoenix little snakeling. He is a creature of magic and creatures of magic have no masters unless we are _bound_ ,” the raven – no, the _creature_ – explained, the minute silver bell on the band about its left ankle ringing softly as it shifted its weight. “The only binding on Fawkes is his duty to choose a leader for the Order of the Phoenix when the darkness rises.” 

“Fee-Fee,” cried Lily’s boy, his eyes alight with joy at the appearance of the not raven.

“Who … what are you?” Severus asked nervously as the creature looked at him with moon-pale grey eyes.

“I have had many names,” it replied coyly. Its voice was a deep contralto with the barest hint of a croak. “You may call me Fea. As to what I am…. Well, I was once many things, but now I am only several. Primarily, I am a servant of the Abhorsen…. Unless, of course, dear Aster would be kind enough to remove the band from around my ankle?” 

Severus wasn’t sure he could identify all of the emotions that flitted though him as he watched Mr. Evans give the creature of magic a fond smile – as thought this was a familiar bit of banter they often engaged in – and as he called her dear-heart as he reminded her that he couldn’t do that. The fool heartedness of a Gryffindor, he thought, even though he knew the man had been sorted into Hufflepuff. It was quite clear to Severus that whatever Fea was, that the silver band around its ankle was the only thing that kept it as a servant of the Abhorsen … or anybody else for that matter. He wasn’t a rune master, but even he could tell that the sigils on the band were quite explicit about that. Not to mention that the binding spell they wove was positively ancient. It was quite possible that Fea was some sort of magical creature as old as Hogwarts Castle, or even older…. 

“Ah, I thought not,” said Fea, as it … or she, as Severus felt that the not-raven was definitely feminine, released his shoulder and fluttered down to perch upon his knee.

He watched as she, now at eye level with Lily’s son, began to preen the boy’s hair with her worryingly sharp beak and noticed with a surge of unease that Fea’s shadow was not always that of a raven.

“Try not to look so worried, Severus,” Mr. Evans advised him. “Her binding aside, Fea has watched over the Abhorsen and their kind since time immemorial.”

Still, he could help keeping one dark eye fixed upon Fea as she worked on tucking a lock of Lily’s son’s dark hair behind the boy’s ear and revealed the lightning bolt shaped scar that had quickly become legend among the wizarding community.

“So that’s where…,” he murmured.

“Yes,” said Mr. Evans, one large hand running along his grandson’s spine. A reassurance that the boy was still there, Severus was sure. “Severus,” the other man began, his voice full of implication. “Have you never wondered why the Killing Curse – a spell that is known for its ability to extinguish life without leaving a mark – the Dark Lord’s preferred method of killing – why it left a mark this time….?” 

Severus pressed his lips together until they were nothing more than a thin pale line. An expression he’d only recently realized he’d picked up from Minerva McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor House.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I’ve wondered about it – who hasn’t in the Wizarding World – but I don’t know. Dumbledore seems to have some idea, but he isn’t sharing…”

“Of course not,” Mr. Evans remarked derisively. “He wouldn’t.”

“You don’t trust Albus Dumbledore very much, do you,” Severus asked, meeting Mr. Evans’s eyes just long enough to know it was true.

“No, I don’t,” Aster admitted readily. “I haven’t since his lover had my uncle’s wife and children slaughtered and he was lauded for ‘defeating’ him by merely sealing him within his own stronghold.

“And I trust him not at all now that I know he used my daughter’s life as a bargaining chip…. Which doesn’t even bring into account the fact that he left my grandson and heir on my eldest’s doorstep last autumn with no more than a letter hinting that a Bond of Blood Ward had been erected for their protection…. So, _no_ I don’t trust the conniving old man.” 

Severus had only ever heard this perspective from his fellow Slytherins before. And usually only when they were those of a darker inclination. Though he supposed being a necromancer, even one sanctioned by the International Confederation of Wizards, did qualify once as _Dark_.

 _Be honest_ , Severus’s own inner voice chided him. _You didn’t go to Dumbledore to protect Lily and her family because he was_ Light _. You went to him because he was and is powerful and apposed the Dark Lord._

“When Dumbledore told the wizarding world that the boy had been placed with relatives for his own safety I had assumed he meant you. Not Petunia,” he said slowly. “After all, it would have been the safest place for the boy. Especially, since Dumbledore believes that the Dark Lord will return and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was never one to take … _insult_ lightly …. And making him appear fallible in anyway was a mistake few ever lived to repeat….” 

If there was one man on the planet who could have truly known whether or not the Dark Lord would be able to somehow return; it was Aster Evans. And so, it made Severus’s heart sink when the man gave a dark, humorless chuckle.

“Oh, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has most certainly sown the seeds to ensure that he has a means of returning,” Mr. Evans said, his voice rumbling like an approaching storm. “He had already created enough horcruxes to destabilize the core of his soul before he arrived in Godric’s Hollow this past Hallowe’en. A fragment of his desecrated soul broke away from the whole when the protection Lily laid upon Harry caused the Dark Lord’s Killing Curse to rebound. The fragment attempted to attach itself to the nearest source of Life it could find – my grandson.”

Severus could feel a growing swell of horror rising up within him like bile, yet it was tempered by Mr. Evans’s choice of words.

“You said it attempted to,” he demanded. “So that means it didn’t succeed, doesn’t it?”

“Not fully, no,” Mr. Evans hastily reassured him. “The Moira were merciful and Lily’s sacrifice bought me enough time to get to him and remove it…. Hell, it’s thanks to her that I even knew about the attack.”

“What – What do you mean,” Severus asked slowly. Everyone knew that during the final year of the war that the Death Eaters’ had managed to secure saboteur among the Floo Network Authority by casting the Imperius Curse on of the Regulators. There would have been no way for Lily to use the Floo to get even so much as a message out. 

“It was her – her Sending that informed me of her and James’s deaths,” Mr. Evans informed him gently.

“You – you spoke to Lily?”

“Briefly,” Mr. Evans confirmed. “She sent me her wand and every tool she had for taking down a rogue necromancer.”

Severus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It couldn’t be true. Because if it was … if Mr. Evans had spoken with Lily then why –

“ _Why didn’t you bring her back?!_ ” he demanded. “Why did you allow her to stay dead?”

“You think I wanted to?” Mr. Evans growled coolly. “Resurrection is a temptation all those who wear the mantel of Abhorsen face at one time or another. I experienced the temptation for the first time when Grindelwald murdered my family. I felt it again when Voldemort’s teacher murdered my wife. Can you honestly believe that I didn’t feel it when I found my daughter’s body on the floor of my grandson’s nursery?

“I wanted to bring her back so much it disgusted me. But resurrection is the temptation of a _necromancer_. And only a necromancer – _not_ the Abhorsen – would cast aside their duty and take the cards nature or circumstance has dealt, reshuffle them and deal again. 

“It is painful in a way I pray you will never understand to know that you have the power to make someone you love be able to live again, laugh again … but know that you can’t because if you did then the person that they were in Life would hate you, because you would have turned them into a monster that can only cling to a semblance of life by feeding on the Life and blood of others.”

“I – yes, I understand,” Severus said slowly. It was painful, but he did understand. Lily had been a kind and generous soul. It would have destroyed her to become such a monster. “I – wait – what do you mean by the Dark Lord’s teacher – you mean the one who taught him necromancy, don’t you?” he queried.

“Yes,” said Mr. Evans with more menace in his tone than Severus had ever heard before. “It’s curious don’t you think… true necromancy is nearly a lost art and yet two Dark Lords within the last fifty years have been quite gifted in the art.” 

“Most assume that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named learned it from Grindelwald,” Severus hedged. “After all, he more than proved he had no qualms about using the remains of the Nazi’s bloody genocide to add to his ranks of Inferis.” 

But there was no way that Grindelwald could have murdered Sylvia Evans in nineteen seventy-seven when he had been imprisoned in Nurmengard since the forties.

“True, most do believe that,” Mr. Evans concurred with a smile as sharp as a Cutting Curse. “But I’m afraid they would be wrong…. In fact, as wrong as Dumbledore for assuming that the Bond of Blood would have saved Harry if You-Know-Who’s teacher were to payed a visit to Privet Drive…. The wards might have saved him from the Death Eaters and even Voldemort himself, but it never would have saved him from the one who taught them both necromancy.”

Severus swallowed nervously. His mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara.

“Who – Who taught them?”

“She is called Chlorr of the Mask,” Mr. Evans said softly. He spoke not with hushed fear most wizards used when invoking the Dark Lord’s name, but with a rage that had the time to turn cold and calculating. “She and her lover were the first enemies of the Abhorsen and it is her plots that my line has fought against though the ages.

“She was once a powerful witch … now she is one of the Greater Dead that has used its ages of existence to amass tremendous power.”

“Why hasn’t she been exorcised or banished or whatever it is you lot do to spirits that linger too long,” Severus felt he must ask.

It was with gentle patience that Mr. Evans answered him. The sort learned from years of explaining an obscure field to a layman.

“Sometimes the Abhorsens of the past have been able to shackle her deep in Death, but this is never a permanent solution. There are always fools eagerly seeking power whom she is able to use to aid her in her return,” he explained. “As for why she has never been made to walk through the Final Gate.... It is because of the state of her soul, Severus. A soul must be whole to pass through the Gate of the Inevitable One. Those who split their soul and create a horcrux can only be bound until a time when every piece of their soul has been freed from its vessel and cast into the River of Death – and Chlorr of the Mask has hidden her horcrux well.”

“Why are you telling me this,” Severus wondered aloud. He could think of no reason for someone – even a former Hufflepuff – to offer up this much sensitive information for free.

“Because you loved my daughter and I know you’ll do right by my grandson for her sake at least,” Mr. Evans said simply. “Hogwarts is supposed to be a haven, but wards can be breached. It’s been done before or do you think that a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor every year since Idris left in sixty-seven is the norm?”

When put that way, Severus mused, it was little wonder that the Death Eaters had been able to exterminate an entire generation of Muggle-borns – never mind the losses amongst those considered to be blood traitors….

“And what am I supposed to do that you can’t,” Severus asked with genuine curiosity.

“Nothing more than you would have done anyway,” said Mr. Evans, he was smiling once again. “Petunia will watch over him when my work calls me away. But you’ll watch over him when we can’t.”

Severus swore the only promise he could make in response.

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to everyone who has left kudos, comments, and/or bookmarked this fic.


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